


Quadruple Kill

by LocallyGrownAvocado



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Guitars, M/M, Moving, Musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 14:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14571147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LocallyGrownAvocado/pseuds/LocallyGrownAvocado
Summary: Yuuri's half of an Indie Folk Duo, armed with an acoustic guitar and a large collection of cover music.Victor's the charismatic (and beautiful) frontman of his own band and just happens to be one of Yuuri's musical idols.So of course when they end up next door to each other, all sorts of fun things happen. :)





	Quadruple Kill

**Author's Note:**

> So this whole story was inspired by some art by lolimnotheidi on tumblr. Their art for this AU can be found here... http://lolimnotheidi.tumblr.com/tagged/bands-au. It's wonderful.
> 
> Seriously. Go find them. Love on them. They are a beautiful human with wonderful art skills and deserve much love and appreciation. 
> 
> Thanks fam!

The first day of moving in was always the worst. Yuuri had been working all day and there were still boxes all over, packing peanuts spilled like a blanket across the floor. But that could be fixed in the morning, right? He’d done enough today, he deserved a break. After all, he had two weeks until Phichit showed up, that was plenty of time to get the apartment in order.

Yuuri grabbed his guitar and walked out onto the balcony. It was the only part of the apartment that wasn’t plagued with boxes, and the view of the city was certainly nicer than the view of his poorly-painted walls. He grabbed a stool from inside and started to play.

He didn’t necessarily play anything concrete- just arpeggios and a few phrases from the soft Nirvana cover he’d written last month. It didn’t take much thought, he’d played the patterns hundreds of times by now. But between the mindless strumming and the calm of the city, Yuuri could feel himself relaxing.

After a few minutes, he paused, staring out at the city lights. It wasn’t Detroit, of course, but maybe it could still be home.

“The D is up,” a quiet voice said from the next balcony over.

“Excuse me?” Yuuri stammered, trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker.

The apartment building made that difficult- there was a pillar between the two spaces that he couldn’t quite see beyond. The voice had sounded male, maybe slightly foreign?

“The D string is out of tune,” the speaker clarified. “You might want to tune it down a little.”

“Oh,” Yuuri replied, adjusting the tuning knob just a little. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were out here, I can go back inside.”

The stranger next door laughed a little. “No, stay. I appreciate the music. It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

He started to play again, starting with a few basic chords and arpeggios but slowly evolving into a song he knew well. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d played it for an audience, it was a little dated and was never that popular to begin with, but it had always been one of his favorites.

“That song,” the neighbor said after Yuuri finished. “I think I’ve heard it before. What was it?”

“It’s an old Victor Nikiforov song,” he explained. “It was off the Moscow album before Quadruple Kill happened. Don't get me wrong, the band is great. But I really like a lot of his older work. It has a different color to it.”

“Really?” the neighbor asked, sounding more curious than accusatory.

“Yeah. You should look them up. He did two albums before the band, but Moscow’s the stronger one, in my opinion. I’m pretty sure he still has his old music on his youtube channel. Some of his old covers have really strong harmonies, actually. It’s definitely worth looking into.”

The neighbor chuckled a little. “I’ll look it up, then. I could use some new music.”

Yuuri nodded, though he realized the neighbor couldn't see him.

He slowly started another song- this one a Train cover he’d done with Phichit a few years ago. They’d rushed through the arrangement for a wedding, but the chords had turned out nicer than they’d expected. Of course, it would’ve been better with Phichit out on the balcony singing the melody.

He played through a few more Snow Society covers along with a few of their works in progress. Maybe if he finished the Kodaline chords, Phichit would forgive him for the state of the apartment. He played a few other Nikiforov songs, a bit of Quadruple Kill for good measure. As the night moved on, he shifted into slow improvisation, fingers working through chords as his mind wandered.

Eventually, exhaustion caught up with him, and he went back inside. Despite the mess of his apartment, sleep came easily.

* * *

He woke up somewhere between late morning and early afternoon. He stared at his apartment for a few minutes only to find he had absolutely no motivation to unpack anything. Instead, he took a shower. And then he went grocery shopping.

After all, grocery shopping was an essential chore. There wasn’t exactly food in his apartment. He certainly wasn’t procrastinating, no not at all.  

When he finally got back to his apartment building, he was still lacking motivation. However, he _had_ acquired an ample supply of ramen noodles and plenty of chocolate. That was definitely worth something.

When he finally made it up the stairs, there was a post-it note stuck on his door. He temporarily ignored it in favor of putting away his groceries but went back to investigate once the milk was refrigerated. It was a simple yellow square, the writing scrawled in blue ink.

_Tonight, same time same place?_

_-V_

_(Your musically-inclined neighbor)_

For some reason, the note was very motivating.

* * *

Turns out, Yuuri didn't remember exactly when he'd gone outside last night. So the whole "same time same place" thing was going to be difficult. He ended up going out around nine and he figured that was close enough.

Yuuri started to play, working his way through one of the new covers he was working on with Phichit. It was technically an acoustic version of an old Bob Dylan song, but at this point it wasn’t very recognizable. It had all sorts of potential, the harmonies would be great once Yuuri actually managed to get the chords under his fingers. The A majors were lovely,  but not quite right for the bridge.

Maybe he could modulate into minor.

Phichit would kill him, but the originality might just be worth it.

After a few more failed attempts at writing music, Yuuri heard the familiar sound of a door sliding open next door.

"You're here," his neighbor said, almost sounding surprised.

Yuuri just laughed. "Of course. How could I refuse such a well-written post-it note?"

The neighbor chuckled a little. "Well, for all I know, it could've fallen off your door before you got to it. Or Mrs. Linde next door could've taken it down  out of spite, she really doesn't like me very much."

"Well, apparently she doesn't hate you enough to sabotage your post-it note adventures."

There was a small silence before the neighbor spoke again.

"Oh! I looked up that music you were talking about last night. It's actually alright, although I'm not sure I agree with your praise of Moscow. It was a little sappy, a bit overemotional. I mean I can’t blame him. He was like twenty, probably depressed over failing calculus or something equally trivial. But Andromeda was much more real."

Sure, it was technically an insult to Victor and to Yuuri’s music taste, but there was something about the way he said it that made Yuuri laugh.

"I'll admit that Moscow was sappy. But it wasn’t tacky sappy, you know? I thought it was endearing."

"You know, I suppose it could have been worse,” the neighbor said. “At least he never tried to cover Taylor Swift."

"Hey," Yuuri snapped, though he didn’t sound nearly as angry as he’d intended to. "I sing weddings. I've done plenty of Taylor Swift."

The neighbor chuckled to himself. "That's different. You're a classical guitarist, and you've got this cute, acoustic voice that sounds like love. You could play Taylor Swift and make it sound tolerable. Victor Nikiforov... probably not."

Yuuri could tell he was starting to blush, and he was suddenly very thankful for the pilar separating the balconies.

"Alright, first of all, Victor Nikiforov has a much stronger voice than mine, in pretty much every way possible. He's a powerhouse. And let's be real, he could release a whole album dedicated to Taylor covers and he'd make enough money to pay my rent for the rest of my life."

The neighbor laughed.

"That would require Yuri Plisetsky playing Taylor Swift, though."  

Yuuri shrugged. "Mila would probably get into it."

"Ah, but Yurio would kill someone. Actually, he'd kill a very specific lead singer. And he'd make it incredibly slow and incredibly painful."

"I’m pretty sure Victor could take him."

The neighbor apparently found this notion hilarious.

"I mean, it's a valid statement,” Yuuri said. “Yurio's practically a twig, he doesn't exactly have a lot of muscle going for him. He's all talk. And besides, have you seen Victor Nikiforov's biceps? Google the cover of Rolling Stone's January edition."

"That was like ninety percent photoshopped," the neighbor replied. "His arms aren't _that_ great. And besides, Yurio might be a string bean, but he's a string bean made entirely of rage."

The more Yuuri thought about it, the more he realized the image of Yuri Plisetsky as an angry string bean was actually fairly accurate. He'd have to text the idea to Phichit later. He'd definitely appreciate it.

"You know, I feel like someone needs to draw Yurio as a string bean now, one with really angry eyebrows and a kickass electric guitar."

The neighbor laughed. "As long as they include that ridiculous shoulder strap, they have my full support."

Yuuri laughed a little, trying to think of something else to say.

"So. What was your favorite song off of Andromeda, since you liked it so much?"

For a minute the neighbor was quiet. "Probably Italics."

"Funny," Yuuri said as he started to quietly play the introduction. "I'm pretty sure that was Victor's favorite, too."

* * *

The next afternoon, Yuuri dug through at least three boxes looking for post-it notes. He finally found a stack of blue ones buried under some of Phichit's notebooks, along with a few pens and at least seventeen pencils. Yuuri grabbed a pen and started his masterpiece.

He started with a few skinny lines, added a bit of hair, drew some cute cartoonish eyes. He made the eyebrows thick and arched, more so than was probably possible for a human string bean. He drew his best version of an electric guitar, careful to get all the right stickers. The last thing he added was the police-tape shoulder strap. He initialed the drawing and added another note.

_Same time, same place?_

He stuck it on his neighbor's door and proceeded to unpack the boxes in the kitchen.

The post-its actually started a bit of a trend. Every other day a post-it would show up on Yuuri's door, usually with a doodle or a comment about music, always with the same message scrawled on the bottom.

_Same time, same place?_

He'd made the mistake of telling Phichit, who had found the whole thing adorable. Yuuri had insisted that he really didn't know much about his neighbor- for all he knew, he could be some sketchy eighty year old man. Phichit hadn't cared.

_Yuuri, what eighty year old appreciates old Nikiforov music?_

_Hell, what eighty year old knows who Nikiforov is?_

_And besides, if he's old and you marry him, you get all his money when he dies, right?_

Yuuri had hung up after that comment.

He made it about three seconds before he snapped and called Phichit to apologize and ask about the furniture layout and where to put the bookcase.

But in a way, Yuuri was beginning to think Phichit might be right. Not about the neighbor being old or about Yuuri being a gold digger, no that was completely wrong. But every day Yuuri found himself looking forward to sunset, to sitting out on the balcony again. He looked forward to talking with his neighbor, to hearing his voice, his sarcastic and not-so-sarcastic comments. He looked forward to hearing his thoughts in general.

It was nice.

He was nice.

And every night, Yuuri started to realize that a little bit more.

* * *

When Yuuri walked out onto the balcony on Wednesday night, he heard music playing. It was nice, of course, the acoustic guitar chords seemed to blend perfectly with the night air. For a minute, Yuuri wondered where it was coming from. Then he realized it was coming from the same spot his neighbor's voice came from every night.

His neighbor played guitar.

His neighbor was actually good at guitar.

For a minute, Yuuri just listened. His neighbor was certainly talented, moreso than Yuuri had expected. That being said, Yuuri hadn't known his neighbor had played guitar at all, so the expectations had been low. But still.

How had he not known?

Eventually, the music stopped for a moment, and Yuuri seized his opportunity.

"You didn't tell me you played," he said.

"Well, you didn't ask. And guitar isn't really my thing, I'm not great at it. So I just conveniently avoided mentioning it."

"I just heard you play, I think I can safely say you're pretty good at it."

The neighbor sighed. "Guitar’s more of a hobby, something I learned as a kid and never quite quit. I don't play seriously, not in the same way you do."

"That doesn't mean you aren't good at it," Yuuri replied. "You've got talent.”

His neighbor didn’t reply, so Yuuri kept talking.

“You know, when the other half of my duo shows up, you should play with us. We could use a third voice. You sing, right?"

The neighbor chuckled a little. "That would be fun," he said. "When's your roommate coming up again?"

"About a week, depending on when he actually gets his life together and packs. Hopefully next Tuesday. Friday at the latest, considering that's when we're officially kicked out of our apartment in Detroit."

"Well, I look forward to meeting him," his neighbor said. "If he's anything like you, I'm sure he's wonderful."

Yuuri laughed. "He's a little different than me. But in a good way. You'll like him. He's impossible not to like, really."

There was a small silence. The neighbor started to play softly, working his way through chords. Yuuri listened for a minute and joined in. It started with simple arpeggios and slowly evolved into shorter melodic lines. Their sounds blended together well, especially with his neighbor’s humming in the mix.

It wasn't anything like working with Phichit.

With Phichit, everything was a possible cover, a possible single, something that needed to be written down and discussed later. Every missed chord was a problem to be solved. But sitting on the balcony with his neighbor, every chord was music in and of itself. It was carefree and beautiful and Yuuri loved every second of it.

"Wow," the neighbor breathed as the music died down. "We should've done that a long time ago."

Despite the stillness of the moment, Yuuri laughed. "Well, we would have if someone had told me he played guitar."

"You have me there," the neighbor replied. "But really, thank you. That was wonderful."

Yuuri could hear his heart beating in his ears as he tried to focus. Maybe Phichit had been right after all. It wouldn't be the first time and it certainly wouldn't be the last but at the same time...

He always hated admitting Phichit had been right.

But Phichit was right this time, wasn't he?

"So," the neighbor said, pulling Yuuri out of his thoughts and back to reality. "You never really told me much about your band. We've already established I'm always looking for new music and I'd love to hear something you've done."

"Well, we're a small indie duo called Snow Society," he said, trying to sound calmer than he actually felt. "We're not like popular or anything, but we post covers on youtube every so often, we play at weddings and other cute social events for people with more money that us. It's really just Phichit and me messing around with guitars to avoid adult responsibilities."

The neighbor just laughed. "Well, I'll have to look you guys up then," he said. "We'll see if your Taylor Swift covers are better than Moscow."

"Nothing we did is better than Moscow," Yuuri replied, laughing a little. "Didn't we already go over this?"

"Ah, but I'm still not convinced. I suppose I'll just have to hear it to believe it.”

“Good luck,” Yuuri said, rolling his eyes his invisible neighbor.

They slowly started to play again, guitar melodies drifting through the space between them. The city lights seemed to fade away, the mess of his apartment no longer existed behind him. The only thing left was the music.

Well, the music, and one last thought.

Phichit was right.

* * *

And just like that, everything had changed.

In a lot of ways, it was a good change. Now that he knew his neighbor was a musician, they had all sorts of interesting conversations. They talked about chords, about the new songs on the radio, about whether or not it was acceptable to end a song on a seventh chord.

“Nikiforov did it on Moscow.”

“Right. Because Moscow is such a credible source.”

“Hey, I _like_ Moscow.”

His neighbor had just laughed. “I’m glad someone does.”

And somehow, despite the dislike of Moscow, Yuuri found himself appreciating his neighbor more and more.

He was actually pretty smart- he’d helped Yuuri with some of the chords for the Kodaline cover and he had all sorts of insights into song structure and harmony. And even though he never sang, he sounded beautiful when he hummed his harmonies.

It should’ve been easy.

_Tell me about yourself?_

_Come over?_

_Get food with me?_

_All of the above?_

And yet it wasn’t easy.

It was so far from easy.

It was frustrating and irritating and slightly agitating. And every night, Yuuri walked back into his apartment with a million questions sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Maybe one day he’d get the courage to ask them.

* * *

On Sunday, Yuuri finally decided to talk to his neighbor. Technically he talked to his neighbor every night, but this night was going to be different. Tonight he was going to ask to actually meet him, to learn his actual name, to see what he actually looked like, to learn who this mysterious neighbor actually was, and to maybe, just maybe, ask him out.

When talking to Phichit, the plan had seemed like a wonderful thing. Yuuri had hung up feeling motivated and confident.

It had been two hours.

He was no longer motivated.

He had lost almost all of his confidence.

And any remnant of hope was shattered the minute he walked out onto the balcony and realized his neighbor wasn’t alone.

“His name is Andrei,” his neighbor had said. “He came over for a work project and we lost track of time. But we both figured we could use a break, so we came out here.”

“Really?” Andrei replied, but the neighbor didn’t respond to him.

“Believe it or not,” he said, “Andrei’s actually a big Quadruple Kill fan, you two would probably get along.”

“That’s nice,” Yuuri said, trying to think of something- anything- to say. “You have a favorite song?”

Andrei’s laugh was sharp and clipped. “Anything Mila sings. Victor’s voice gets on my fucking nerves.”

“And you thought we were going to get along,” Yuuri said, earning a small laugh from his neighbor.

“My good neighbor is actually quite a Nikiforov fan,” he said. “He likes Moscow.”

“You like _Moscow_?” Andrei demanded. “Nobody likes Moscow. It’s the most sentimental bullshit he ever wrote.”

Yuuri sighed. “Yeah, but it really showed off his vocal range. He’s got amazing flexibility, Quadruple Kill tends to waste it.”

“You hear that, Andrei?” his neighbor said smugly.

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” Andrei snapped. “Quad Kill grounded him. He was writing fucking break up songs about applied physics. He needed help. Probably needed therapy, shame he never got it.”

The conversation was not at all going where Yuuri had intended it to go.

“Not a Nikiforov fan, huh?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

Andrei sighed. “He’s good, yeah. Not as good as he’s talked up to be, though.”

Yuuri took a deep breath. “Well, agree to disagree.”

“Of course you fucking do,” Andrei muttered. He said something else, too, but it was in a different language and sounded slightly hostile.

“What?” Yuuri asked.

His neighbor just laughed. “Don’t worry about him, he just doesn’t like being disagreed with.”

Andrei muttered something else, but nobody acknowledged him.

“So, how’s your day been?” Yuuri asked, trying to change the subject.

“Oh it was wonderful,” his neighbor replied cheerily. “It was a bit long, it’s a busy time for us. But I love it. And of course it’s better now that I’m out here with you instead of working late in my apartment.”

The fluttering in Yuuri’s heart was quickly shattered by Andrei’s sharp voice.

“You know what, this is fucking ridiculous,” he snapped. “You’re both fucking ridiculous. I’m ending this.”

Yuuri heard a few footsteps and a nervous laugh from his neighbor.

“Before he comes back, do you think I could convince you to get coffee with me?”

For a second Yuuri’s heart stopped.

“Yeah, of course,” he stammered.

His neighbor started to reply but was cut off by Andrei.

“You _asshole_ ,” he shouted.

His neighbor nervously laughed.

Yuuri almost said something, but a knock at his door cut him off.

He apologized and walked back towards his door, trying to keep calm. He got exactly what he’d wanted, after all. Maybe it wasn’t on his terms, maybe Andrei had ruined the moment, but that didn’t technically matter, did it?

“Open the damn door,” Andrei’s voice snaps.

Yuuri sighed. “I’m coming, calm down.”

He was not prepared for what was on the other side of the door.

Andrei, was in fact, short and skinny, with a sloppy blonde bun on top of his head. He looked tired and pissed off, which wasn’t necessarily surprising, but was completely terrifying.

“You’re not Andrei,” Yuuri stammered.

“No shit,” Yuri Plisetsky snapped “Follow me.”

For some reason, probably fear, Yuuri followed.

Yurio walked quickly, stopping at the door next to Yuuri’s.

“You’d better fucking thank me for this,” he muttered as he opened the door.

At first glance, his neighbor’s apartment looked normal. It was neat, organized, and far more put together than Yuuri’s, but he’d expected that. His neighbor’s apartment was nice, actually. He appeared to have a really nice vinyl collection, which Yuuri assured himself he’d be checking out later.

And then Yuuri saw the Grammys.

And then he saw the pictures.

And then he saw the small blue post-it stuck to the fridge with a very punk rock string bean drawn on it.

“Yeah, I definitely saw that,” Yurio snapped.

Yuuri had made a lot of decisions in his life.

Suddenly, he regretted all of them.

When he finally tore his eyes from the post-it note, they landed firmly on the man standing by the balcony door.

“Surprise?” his neighbor said weakly.

Yuuri felt like he was going to pass out.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that passing out might be his best option. After all, he wouldn't have to acknowledge the fact that he lived next door to Victor Nikiforov. In fact, maybe if he fell hard enough, he’d get some sort amnesia.

“Say something?” Victor said, slowly starting to walk closer.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Yuuri stammered, trying to keep his heart from beating straight out of his chest.

“Say you’ll still get coffee with me tomorrow?”

“Um, I’m not really a morning person,” Yuuri said before he really realized what had come out of his mouth. “But you know, let's do lunch.”

“Lunch,” Victor confirmed with a smile.


End file.
